


endless cauldron

by blue_slate



Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: F/F, Mild Smut, Oh who am I kidding, abigail stop picking on people, colonel wick why are u like this, fluff with a hint of sexual content, it's porn you're welcome, set before the wedding probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24323488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_slate/pseuds/blue_slate
Summary: raelle learns of the teacup idea. scylla is there to help her out with it.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Comments: 5
Kudos: 187





	endless cauldron

**Author's Note:**

> my first mfs fic!! hope you all enjoy it, and please leave feedback :)  
> wanted to toy around with the idea of the witches power expanding the more they train at Fort Salem, so here we are!   
> big thanks to my friend jess for beta-ing this!

In all her time at Fort Salem, Raelle has come to learn two things. The first being that Abigail is especially prone to griping about anything that bothers her. The second is that the well inside Raelle’s chest grows bigger each day, and she has no idea what to do about it. 

Anacostia knows. Of  _ course _ the drill sergeant knows, and keeps an eye on Raelle during every single exercise. The sergeant always has this look in her eye, like she knows exactly how Raelle feels every single day. 

It’s not a pleasant feeling. It makes her chest feel sore, and every time she’s thrown to the ground during training, it feels like the wind is being knocked out of her chest and more. It comes to a point where it gets too much to bear, and Anacostia sends Raelle right on her way to the infirmary. 

How  _ embarrassing.  _

Colonel Wick is quick in her examination, though Raelle doubts she’s being anything but thorough. 

“Have you heard of the teacup idea?” Colonel Wick asks, and Raelle’s face scrunches together. “I’ll take that as a no. The teacup idea, in the simplest sense, is the idea that all of us have a metaphorical teacup that serves as the well of our power. Our teacup grows as we train more, but it can also be related to genetics and the strength of a matriline.” 

_ No wonder Abigail is so high and mighty. Her teacup is probably a barrel, _ Raelle thinks, not even focusing on how Colonel Wick is pressing into the muscles on her back, checking something. 

“And you, Private Collar, seem to have a  _ very _ large cauldron on your hands,” Colonel Wick concludes, and Raelle’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head. Colonel Wick has a slight smile on her face, more a smirk than anything. “Be proud of yourself, Collar. Only a few weeks into basic and you’re already looking better than most of the recruits.” 

“When will it stop feeling so sore?” Raelle asks, and Colonel Wick tilts her head to the side, a thoughtful look drifting into her wise eyes. 

“A hard question to answer. It may stop tomorrow, or it may stop in a year. Over time, the soreness will feel better, but if I can make an educated guess, your cauldron of a teacup may never stop growing,” Colonel Wick answers, folding her hands in front of her. “Warm baths are a good method of easing that soreness. But, if you’re looking for a foolproof way to relieve it, I’d suggest letting your energies out.” 

For the second time today, Raelle nearly passes out. Colonel Wick seems it funny enough to laugh, and Raelle’s face burns with a blush. 

“Now, I’m not saying you go off and find a boy, or a girl, whoever you fancy,  _ but,” _ Colonel Wick winks at this. “Consider it a medical suggestion.” 

Raelle has never walked out of the infirmary so fast in her  _ life _ . 

She finds herself back in training soon enough, not wanting to dwell on Colonel Wick’s words for too long. Raelle, ever since Beltane and long before that, has understood that sexual energies play a large role in the power of a witch. 

Maybe she thinks about it  _ too _ much, because this is the second time in this training session that Abigail has been able to knock Raelle flat on her ass. And having a Bellweather be the one to do it just makes Abigail far too smug for Raelle’s liking. 

“C’mon, shitbird, where’s all that prowess gone?” Abigail prods, obviously trying to goad Raelle into a rash decision. Which, in Raelle’s mind, seems to be Abigail’s most prominent talent. Raelle pushes herself back onto her feet and readies her scourge in her hand. 

The whip cracks through the air as Abigail and Raelle fight toe to toe, Tally overseeing them. Raelle pushes past that soreness in her chest, pushing the lid on that cauldron of power and focusing on knocking the ever so mighty Abigail Bellweather down a peg. Not an easy feat, not when Abigail refuses to be taunted anymore by Libba Swythe. 

The whip wraps around Abigail’s ankle, and Raelle yanks with all her strength. A grunt of effort comes from her lips, mingled with the noise of Abigail’s groan when her head snaps against the training mat. Somewhere overhead, a crack of thunder is heard. 

Anacostia merely raises her brow, and glances at the watch on the inside of her wrist. “Privates, you’re dismissed for the day. Hit the showers and go to the mess hall. Now!” 

Raelle doesn’t have to be told to scram twice. She holsters her scourge on her hip, and as she walks towards the doors, Anacostia grabs her shoulder. Raelle barely manages to cover up her wince as another wave of soreness hits her. 

“Whatever your issue is, get it fixed. I trust Colonel Wick told you how to, so get it done, Private Collar,” Anacostia says, her tone as firm as it always is, but her jaw is steeled and eyes cold. Raelle nods, and Anacostia lets go of her shoulder. 

Well, shit. Raelle doesn’t need Anacostia breathing down her neck anymore than she already is. Not to mention, Abigail is leveling a furious glare at her. Raelle can already hear the  _ “you need focus, shitbird”  _ speech before Abigail even starts. So, Raelle changes her trajectory to avoid a shitstorm from Bellweather, and heads across the fort. Sure, she might be sweaty, but it’s not her highest priority right now. 

Her feet carry her easily to Scylla’s dorm, a path Raelle’s taken so many times at this point she may have worn tracks into the stairs up to the third floor. The Necro dorms have always felt a bit dead in terms of foot traffic (no pun intended), but it’s peaceful. Raelle could use peace these days. 

Her knuckles rap against the wood, and Scylla is opening the door only a second later, her ever so graceful smirk on her face, as always. 

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Scylla comments, opening the door wider to let Raelle in. Raelle shrugs off her jacket and throws it on the back of Scylla’s desk chair, and reaches her hand up to her shoulder. The soreness is back, and it feels like a cinder block is pressing on her chest. 

“I know. Just needed to see you,” Raelle says, pressing her fingers into the meat of her shoulder, but it barely does a thing to alleviate the soreness. Scylla’s eyes drop to Raelle’s hand, before averting back to the blonde’s eyes. “C’mere.” 

“Love the orders,” Scylla says, taking a few steps forward and bringing Raelle in for a kiss, hand sliding in the light gold locks. 

That metaphorical cinder block on Raelle’s chest leaves for just the slightest second, and Colonel Wick’s words flash in her mind again. 

And to that, Raelle says  _ fuck it.  _

Raelle swivels with Scylla in her arms, pushing her down onto the bed. Raelle straddles Scylla by the waist, their lips not leaving each other, not even to breathe. Scylla’s hands crawl down the sides of Raelle’s stomach, skirting over the slightly sweat damp fabric of Raelle’s shirt, before tugging it out from the tucked position in Raelle’s pants. Raelle switches her focus, pulling Scylla’s leg upward by the back of her thigh, and massaging the tense skin there mindlessly. 

It feels fucking  _ fantastic. _

Scylla’s fingers dig into the muscle trailing on Raelle’s spine, her shirt ridden up, and Raelle can’t stifle the groan of pleasure that lips through her mouth. The lid of her cauldron shakes, and Raelle buries her head into Scylla’s neck. Her grip on Scylla’s thigh becomes tighter, but Scylla doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Teacup’s getting big, is it?” Scylla whispers, her breath hot on Raelle’s ear. “Happens to all of us, Rae.” 

And just like that, Raelle is no longer on top, and she’s face down on Scylla’s bed. She tries to look over her shoulder— keyword being  _ tries _ . Scylla throws her leg over the back of Raelle’s legs, and her hands push the fabric of Raelle’s shirt up until it’s bunched around the blonde’s shoulders. 

“Lucky for you, I know  _ exactly _ how to remedy that,” Scylla drawls, hands skirting up and down Raelle’s back. Raelle groans again, and inside her, deep in her chest, her cauldron feeling endless with power simmering, simply waiting to be used. Scylla leans down, pressing some fleeting kisses on the bumps on Raelle’s spine, and Raelle writhes, gripping the pillow her head rests on tightly. 

_ Fuck _ , it feels good, in an unexplainable way that leaves Raelle shaking. Scylla is enjoying herself, if the satisfied expression on her face is anything to go by. Raelle makes a poor attempt in muffling her vulgar curses of relief; this is the best she’s felt in  _ days.  _

Scylla’s shifts a bit and now Raelle on her back, stuck staring up at the most beautiful woman she’s ever met in her life. 

“Feel better?” Scylla teases, finger brushing over the blush on Raelle’s cheeks. All Raelle can do in that very moment is nod her head up and down, because what the fuck else is she supposed to do? Scylla smiles. “Good, I’m glad, baby girl.” 

Well, that’s a thing. Raelle’s back arches when Scylla drags her hand up Raelle’s stomach, fingers barely toying with the faint lines of Raelle’s abs. 

“God, fuck, Scyl,” Raelle whispers, and Scylla just laughs. 

“You’re too cute,” Scylla says, pulling her hands away before coming down to press a long kiss on Raelle’s lips. It soon evolves into something heated, as Raelle chases that feeling of lightheadedness, the soreness in her chest slowly slipping away the more she kisses Scylla, the more she presses her body into her girlfriend’s. It’s intoxicating. 

The untapped magic in the cauldron comes to a boil, a boil that demands more and leaves Raelle needing to feel Scylla closer. So, Raelle grabs at the fabric of Scylla’s shirt, and tugs it upward and off to the side. Much better. 

Raelle feels drunk when Scylla’s hand comes down to grab at her ass. Then Scylla’s hands are undoing the buckle of her belt and Raelle can’t find it in herself to stop. Why would she want to, anyway? 

Raelle grabs at the back of Scylla’s arm, finding purchase and having to bite her lip harshly when Scylla’s hand slips in, and it comes too fast. It hits her like a wave would smack her in the face, but it's full of relief. The soreness has all but gone, and that cauldron in Raelle’s chest has calmed down. The lid is secure, and it’s merely simmering now, content. 

Scylla turns to rest on her back, and is so bold to lick her fingers. “Good, baby?” 

“Yeah,” Raelle breathes, hands resting on her stomach. Note to self; get the underwear in the laundry ASAP. “Feels fucking great.” 

“It’s always like that,” Scylla ponders, now raking her (clean) hand through Raelle’s hair. “That first release is always the best.” 

Scylla’s not wrong. 

“Your turn?” Raelle proposes, and Scylla just grins. 

  
  



End file.
